Displacement
by Caltrop
Summary: He had been in a deep sleep for two years before the brutal incident, where he dreamed he was an entirely different person in an unconsciously constructed realm. Upon awakening, everything he dreamt was irreversibly lost, including a particular blue friend of his. Now he's being treated for severe schizophrenia. (Chronological interviews.)
1. Existents (Kyserike Interview)

"He was a strange creature, but nothing far from being a human just like me. Had he been larger, or if he had skin instead of fur, he would have blended in with everyone else, though his unnatural appearance is what fascinated me and exempt him from being typically insipid like all the rest. He had a lively aura about him, and though his appearance was alien to me and others, the amicable atmosphere he carried with him was what made him so distinct and interesting. His name was L...Lucia—no! That's a girl's name ... Lu...Lu-something. I can't remember. I can remember everything else so vividly, but I guess, what do names matter?"

**Historical log, 1998. Interviews orchestrated by J. Saint John. Please note that that following dialogue was taken from audio tapes one year ago. The actions shown in bold may be inaccurate, as they were taken only from memory.**

**Kyserike (Kai-zer-rick-ee) O'Ferrel was born in 1979 and hails from the eastern coast of Ireland. Not much is known about O'Ferrel; he's especially not open about his earlier years, claiming he cannot remember them. He is the son of his very well-known father (now deceased) who was drafted into the war against his will, and a British mother (now deceased) who was also a conscientious objector. Naturally a pacifist much like his parents, O'Ferrel surprised the nation when he brutally massacred six Americans. He pleaded that he was insane, and so he lives here in Hellingly Asylum (IHA), Colorado, USA.**

My psychologists told me that all my memories originated from a dream, as in they weren't real. I've forgotten everything that happened to me from when I was born to when I overdosed, so they tell me that I'm confusing my dreams with real life. I denied all that they said. I lived for seventeen years on an illusory plane of existence, fifteen of which consisted of false memories that I never actually experienced. Then I woke up two years after I fell asleep. Everything I knew, everyone I met, even my own being, it all came from that dream. I was living a good life, and what happened when I woke up? I lost everything. I had to start all over as someone who I didn't want to be, in a world I didn't want to live in. Sometimes I just wish I could fall asleep again and stay that way forever. Maybe "sometimes" is an understatement.

**[He shifts uncomfortably on his bed and reaches for a picture frame on his bedside. He hands it to me. The picture is hued in sepia and portrays a young man in a gown adorned with badges. He's grinning and saluting the camera.]**

This is my father. He was an amazing guy, truly brilliant. He was a pilot, administering anaesthetics and the like to marines in need. He got the job done, and he was very talented. Because he owned his own plane, he could travel wherever, when he wasn't needed. In England he met my mother. Right when she conceived me, my father's plane crashed. He never knew he had impregnated my mother. My father died before I was born. In my dream, I had subconsciously fabricated the man in that picture who I perceived as my father, even though this man was only a few years older than me, as funny as it sounds. I remember going to Rose & Joes with him in the city, getting pizza and baked goods, then going to Laguli's, then to the park. I was raised by him, and I had grown more attracted to him than to my mother. These memories are so, so vivid. I feel like I was there only yesterday, on the blue-painted metal of the playground, Italian ice in hand, standing abreast of my father and gazing at the city. _Only yesterday_. But there's no point reminiscing about things that never happened. It was nice because I got to know my father in my dream, but unfortunately he passed after a year or so. Then both of my fathers were dead.

So, in my dream, I lived in a little house that was built on stilts and had been annexed onto the side of a railroad, also on stilts. After a year of dreaming, I turned seventeen, and around that time was when I experience it. The railroad put my life into true peril. My mum was on a business trip and my father had died recently, and I was alone in my house on stilts. Well, I was on the porch overlooking the stone steps down to the ground. I heard the all too familiar repetition of heavy clunking. A train was coming. Awfully fast, light speed. I walked along the boardwalk towards the tracks because I was curious as to why this train was pushing it so unusually fast. I could feel the unnatural vibrations. Suddenly, the rails belched and shifted quite a ways towards me, like they were no longer attached to the wooden platform. That's when I saw him: some silhouetted figure on the other side of the railway. It was dusk, so I could only make out its human-like form and a pair of pointy ears jutting upwards. I didn't have the time to question it. Other things were on my mind, like the train. Once the train reached the start of the bend, I knew something was wrong, and that's when its wheels somehow broke free from the rails and it was projected towards my house with enough inertia to explode through walls of lead. I watched as the train shattered my house and sent splinter cells—no, splinters the size of bathtubs in my direction. At that point, if the projectiles didn't kill me, the collapse of the stilts would. It was hopeless.

But then I remember being seized from behind and practically pushed off the boardwalk. Whatever had got me, it still had its arms wrapped around me. When we reached the grass below, I didn't die, neither did my captor. Instead, we propelled forward at, like, forty miles an hour, my body dangling in this thing's arms like a rag doll. Typically, I passed out. **[He stalls, looking uneasy. His hair droops over his forehead, and there's this unnerving glint in his eyes. Several gowned women enter the room, apologize to me, and begin easing him with various sedatives. I decide to continue the interview another time.]**

**According to Kyserike's medical logs, he had been in a drug-induced coma for nearly two years. From what he said so far, it sounded like he had gotten some very serious amnesia during the coma, and could no longer remember anything from before he underwent the coma. As unbelievable as it sounds, the human mind is extremely intricate and perfectly capable of doing things like this. But there were still so many questions I had, mostly pertaining to this silhouette in Kyserike's dream. **

** I left Kyserike a note and made a new plan with the office, hoping to return soon to finish the interview. In the mean time, I decided to seek out Kyserike's biological brother, whom Kyserike had no idea existed. The brother, Thomas O'Ferrel, fortunately lived close by in a relatively normal household. I knocked on his door and was soon after answered by Thomas himself. He lived alone and was more than glad to let me interview him, despite my unannounced arrival.**

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a/n:New story. Like some of my other stories, this story has already been entirely finished. The remaining chapters are locked away in a safe. I pre-wrote this so I don't get discouraged somehow and quit after posting ch1. Because chances are, I will be discouraged from continuing. Chapters will be posted whenever, you know. Bye


	2. Pils (Thomas Interview)

"'Where am I?' I asked in a sickly daze, to which none of the nurses responded, as they were too busy chirping to one another and frantically doing various medical procedures about the room. "Where the heck am I!?" I blurted out, managing to get some of the nurses' attentions this time. They answered my question, and I was shocked. '...America?'"

**Thomas O'Ferrel, 34  
****Brother of Kyserike O'Ferrel  
****Please note that that following dialogue was taken from audio tapes one year ago. The actions shown in bold may be inaccurate, as they were taken only from memory.**  


My brother seemed like the least likely to be a murderer. Something changed inside him when he went into that coma ... We were roommates. He stayed here in this apartment with me. I'm planning on leaving soon though. There have been a lot of weird aberrations in this apartment as of late.

Anyway, hah, I remember when I found him that morning. He was in the bathroom, sitting up against the wall, orange prescription bottles laying around his body. He never seemed like a person who would take their life. He was usually very happy and enthusiastic, outgoing, but I had noticed him change gradually over the years. He hadn't changed considerably, he had just become a little more withdrawn.

I rushed him to the hospital and he got his stomach pumped. He survived, thankfully, but the doctors said he will stay asleep for a very long time. That he did. More than a year he was asleep for. And when he woke up, I had to go get him. I was elated to hear such great news, but when I saw him, he didn't look particularly in bad shape, he just looked confused. In the lobby, he said to the nurse next to him, "This is who is picking me up?" The nurse affirmed and brought him to me. I nearly cried. I went to hug him but he backed up and scowled. "I have no idea who this guy is," he said harshly. After a long and grueling psychiatric session, we were able to coerce him, I mean, _coax_ him into my car. But, I was devastated. He had just...forgotten his own brother?

**You both grew up in Ireland, correct?**

Aye, hah. Oh...!

**But his voice—**

His voice—his accent had changed drastically! Before he went into the coma, he had as thick an Irish accent as mine, but somewhere in time, he miraculously adopted a British accent! I'm sure this alteration had something to do with this dream of his ... His dream ... At first, he denied everything his psychiatrists said. They told him that he unconsciously created this little world of his within the duration of his coma, and that such fabrications can be as intricate as to include fake memories and realistic surroundings, which is why he was so persistent in believing he belonged there. However, Ky still denied them and seemed to believe that eventually he'd "wake up" back where he was in this "house on stilts." After a while of waiting, I guess he abandoned the idea and began believing in what his psychiatrists had said. He never accepted it, though. He grew depressed. He stopped talking to me, and he even stopped talking to his wife and son. After a few seemingly normal months passed by, he disappeared without a trace. It wasn't until two days later that I found out where he was.

I was at a truck stop buying a couple things when a broadcaster on the tele above the counter caught my attention. The man on the screen said, "A homicidal rampage has left seven people, both adults and children, dead in the burned down pharmacy at the intersection of Barrington highway and Sax parkway. The murderer had been identified as Kyserike O'Ferrel and had fortunately been restrained by police forces."

I dropped what I was holding and gawked at the screen. Heh, the lady at the counter decided to give me grief about the mess I made. But I ran out the store and got in my car and started driving. It was a nightmare. How could that have happened! I was incredulous. I told myself that there must have been a mistake. My brother couldn't do that. He just couldn't! But it was all true ... I arrived at the police station where they were holding him and, well, I couldn't really talk to him because he was confined. After giving his medical history a good look through, it had been decided that he'd be sent to an asylum rather than the jail.

**Sounds like quite an experience, I'm sorry. Did your brother ever give you any specifics as to why he wanted to go back so much—back to his dream?**

Aye. I presume he had just grown attached to the place, and after waking up, everything must've seemed foreign to him and he'd have to adjust all over again. No one likes having to adjust. But there is one aspect of his dream that he shared with us: he could recall some of the dream-dwellers whom he had lived with with such evocative details that you'd think they really were real! He told us about his parents and their history, and though our real parents have passed on and his dream parents weren't real, he could recall their every attribute and trait as though they were. He was suddenly so creative.

**Did he mention anything about a human or creature—some entity with long ears?**

I don't think so... There were certain topics about his dream that he wouldn't like to delve much into, like, for example, whether he had made any dream friends. Is this entity with long ears something he told you about? Because I never heard of such a thing.

**Did you say Kyserike had a wife and kid?**

Yes, he had a wife for a very long time, and his son is, I think, twenty-something. But they split up after the coma for obvious reasons, and the wife now lives in Baxtor.

**[A metallic ping echoes in the background of the tape. I vaguely remember this part when I was recording Thomas, even though I interviewed him not that long ago oddly enough. I think I can remember a green wall with archaic wallpaper behind Thomas where I interviewed him, and on that wall was a painting of some sort, bordered by a metal frame. I think that painting falling down is what caused the ding. After the metallic reverberations die down, I hear Thomas and myself both mumble in a disconcerted way.]**

Sorry about that... I'll fix it later. Weird things like that have been occurring here a lot lately. Maybe this place is haunted. I get that eerie feel a lot.

Uh, about Ky's wife. She lived just down the road from here, but Ky couldn't live with her because her house was only big enough for her and her kid. So that's why we were roommates. And when Ky finally came back, his wife and kid went bloody crazy! They were so happy, but then I told them the horrible news, about his amnesia. Ky refused to associate with his wife and kid; he considered them strangers. His wife tried so hard to help Ky readjust, but Ky refused her help every time.

Ky complained to his wife that he was not meant to be there and he wanted to go back. His wife and I had a long talk, and decided it would be best to let time do its thing. But one day, I caught Ky about to ingest all of my medication, presumably so he could get into a coma again.

**You stopped him?**

Yes! Of course I stopped him! My medication is serious stuff and is highly deleterious if taken in large amounts, meaning that Ky could have easily died if he ingested anything. I didn't care how "great" this dream of his was, I was not going to let him _die_ trying to get back ... But, I don't know. After seeing him go through this mental turmoil of his, I find myself considering...allowing it sometimes. Like, giving him my meds. I would never though ... But maybe if I could just—

**[Something groans in the background, sounding like the vibrations of an unsound wall.]**

**Oh my god.**

W-what?

**There's s-something behind you—**

**[I'm very concerned at this point, because the tape is increasingly being muffled by a heavy white noise. Also, I can't remember anything like this happening during the interview that day. The white noise clears a little for me to hear a shrill screaming, which, I guess, is coming from one of us. A little overcome with nausea and apprehension, I've subconsciously pressed my finger lightly up against the STOP button on the recorder. I'm obligated to stop the tape, but as this memory begins registering in my mind, I'm a little more willing to hear what's left.]**

Help...! AUFF, HELP!

**Oh God ... Grab a...of my hand!**

I...you'll have...closer ... CLOSER, PLEASE! HURRY...AIEE!

**[There is a very loud, inhuman bellow, followed by a cacophony of, what I'm assuming is, banging produced by furniture being tossed around the room in some kind of paranormal tornado. For a moment, the tape is completely disrupted by eerie static. Then the hum abates and I can start to make out the patter of brisk footsteps on concrete and heavy panting. Eventually, I (myself from the tape) come to a full stop, where I breathe and hoarsely mutter numerous blasphemies between breaths. After a minute of this, I hear retching noises, then a soft thud, like a body hitting pavement. Everything is very quiet for a long time until police sirens begin to repetitiously drone in the background. Suddenly, the recording stops by itself, signifying that the memory card has been filled.]**

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a/n: There's ch2. Hope it was spooky enough. Please review


	3. Lucarello (Mike Interview)

"That was the last I ever saw him. Just like that, he evaporated, just dissipated like a freaking mirage. After a year and ten months of steady-going amity that has kept me from mourning and possible suicide, that valuable friendship had irreversibly disappeared. And what have I woken up to?"

**Mike O'Ferrel, 21  
****Son of Kyserike O'Ferrel**

**[I had originally planned to speak with O'Ferrel's wife, but she, according to her son, was not feeling well at the time. Her son, Mike, was a pain to coax into an interview session, but gave in after a certain amount of pressuring.]**

**[Note that harsh language has been either omitted or replaced.]**

Dad was pretty messed up to begin with. He constantly made a fool of himself, but unintentionally, like, it really made you sad watching this sorry klutz ruin relationship after relationship. He couldn't make friends, and so he gradually got sadder and sadder. Actually, you could never really tell he was sad, he just seemed to wither away and become a little more apathetic, generally apathetic. Then he attempted to kill himself and I was like, what! Then a pretty uneventful couple of years passed by until I saw him again, and I swear, he was even more of an embarrassment than he was before. He was angry that he had woken up! He wanted to go back to sleep because he "didn't belong here" and he had some other life when he was dreaming. What really baffles me is how long that dream was. One consistent dream throughout the duration of a two-year-long coma? Even so, he should have been able to differentiate between real and fake, however he insisted that this dream of his was "so, so vivid! _Sooo_ vivid, wow!"

When he got over his whole you're-not-my-family phase, he enthused to me about his dream, but, like, only me. Like, blah blah blah, I don't give two craps about your fairytale fantasies, old man.

**Why would he want to talk to only you about his dream?**

Because he thought I was some kind of link between this world and his stupid dream, like a multiversal conduit or something. He was losing his mind, undergoing rapid mental deterioration. I'm not surprised he did the things he did.

Anyway, I think he started taking an interest in me after I introduced—or reintroduced to him one of my stupid childhood shows. This is where my opinion of him _really_ changed. So, one day I was curious about his dream, so I asked him, "Dad, what the heck was going on in your head for all that time?"

He looked around suspiciously (we were alone) and spoke softly, saying, "I made a friend, and I really want to see him again, but I don't know how to go about finding him now that I've woken up."

I considered making the suggestion of taking another overdose of drugs, but quickly dismissed that; knowing him, he might have actually taken my advice. Instead, I politely replied, "What kind of friend was this?"

"He was a talking animal, kind of," my dad answered.

That made me picture an Alice-In-Wonderland scenario, where my dad was tripping and befriending rabbits and sorts. I said, "Really?" trying to sound interested. "What kind of animal?"

He was pensive for a moment. Obviously he hadn't told anyone this information before, so he was still deciding whether he should tell me. He nervously said, "Well ... His name was Lu ... Lu-something. I can't quite remember," he gave an anxious chuckle, that freak. "Anyway," he continued, "he had blue and black fur, I think, and a lot of weird oddities about his body, like his red eyes, I think, and his tail and dangly things on his neck, I think..."

I thought for a long while. I knew who he was talking about. "Lu-something," blue fur, dangly things—I could totally recognize that. You know how your mind incorporates real life stuff into your dreams? Your mind can take normal things and bend them, and, likewise, your mind can take abnormal things, things from cartoons and comic books and what have you, and make them appear realistic. Well, my dad caught a glimpse of something off one of my TV shows back then, and that information, despite how he wasn't attracted to this particular show and despite how brief a glance he took, that information, like everything else our eyes see, was permanently etched into his brain to remain there and eventually be forgotten—but still remain there. Am I making sense? Like, you know how if you empty the "trash" or "recycle bin" on your computer, you can no longer access anything you deleted. However, all that information is still somewhere in your computer, compacted into the tiniest bytes you can imagine, so that they can still be retrieved by professional tech wizards or government agents if need be. The brain works something like that, just like a computer; you can't remember certain things, but it's all still in there unbeknownst to you, waiting to be accessed by whatever the part of your brain that controls your dreams is.

"Lucario," I said nonchalantly.

"E-escuse me?" He was caught off guard.

"His name was Lucario, right?"

"H-how...I-it was! Lucario," he said in wonder. "How did you know? I don't understand!"

"Lucario is a character from the TV show I used to watch as a child. Pokémon. You spent a good two years with a pokémon. Congratulations."

My dad was really confused, but thankful nonetheless that he had found his friend's name.

**Lu-car-i-o? This is a fictional character from a show?**

Yeah, he's a dog on two legs! Why do you even care so much about my father's dream? Why not focus on the massacre, huh?

**[This kid's really getting to me. He's stubborn and audacious, and he must have a cold heart to put down his father so shamelessly. The more he talks, the more I cringe, but he may have some very useful information, so I press on reluctantly.]**

**These kind of facts are what primarily led your father to do such things. Your father formed a strong bond with Lucario when he was asleep. How would you feel if, say, you had a girlfriend for two years and suddenly she just vanished or died? That's how your father felt. Now, if you don't mind, I'm asking the questions, I'm in charge. Are there any pictures of Lucario?**

Uh ... Okay. Yeah, yeah, one second.

**[For the next couple minutes on the recording, I can hear the patter of keyboard keys in the background.]**

Here. **[Mike shows me a picture of a very intriguing being, definitely not a real animal, but could perhaps be based off one I suppose. I can see how someone would become so attached to this character, especially after reading through the articles and disambiguations on Lucario—apparently they (there are multiple lucario, it's like an entire species) are very loyal and immensely intelligent. Pokémon, which I assume is a show on Greek mythology or something close to that, might be something I should look more thoroughly into in the future.]**

Lucario wasn't the only creature in there with my dad...

**How do you know?**

He said there was something else that he could occasionally catch a glimpse of. When he spoke of it, he'd become very uneasy. He said it was big, gray, had its ribcage piercing through its skin, hanging in the air in front of it, and had a lot of ornate plates of gold and bronze all over its body like it was a Japanese tea house. I said ... "Dad, I think you're thinking of **[name is obscured by sudden burst of static]**."

**And this, unlike Lucario, seemed to make him nervous?**

Well, yeah, it's one scary son of a gun. I'd probably be pretty afraid of it too.

**Can I see a picture?**

**[There's more typing at the keyboard, but as soon as Mike begins to turn his computer screen to show me, there is an audible clicking noise as his computer shuts off.]**

What the ... Who turned off the lights?

**Power's gone out. It's getting late, I should leave. Do you think I could have a talk with your mother? Ever?**

No. Never. She doesn't know anything you need to know anyway. **[The tone of his voice makes me think he's trying to protect her from me, or from something else, or from everything in general.]**

**[The recording ends. Because this tape, unlike the last one, was not disturbed by any known anomalies (except for the power out), I might as well take the time to evaluate Mike O'Ferrel and give a proper synopsis on what he said. For starters, Kyserike had befriended mythological creatures that his brain had picked up while watching a television show: his good friend, who is now known as Lucario, and another abstruse entity, whose name had been unfortunately distorted on the tape. This additional entity seems to be culpable for at least a portion of Kyserike's woes, and with the surprising introduction of this entity came an even bigger list of questions. I'll have to look up "_pokémon with ribcages and golden plates_" when I get the chance, but that is the least on my mind. It's been so long since I captured all these recordings that even _I_ can't remember the name of the entity Mike had given me from when I actually recorded him. The next tape, I believe, is of me returning to IHA to finish where Kyserike and I left off.]**


End file.
